


fin de siècle

by rubberbisquit



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:24:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4807871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubberbisquit/pseuds/rubberbisquit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last of his hair is dried and he feels better.  Relaxed, even.  Still in pain he won’t be sleeping on his back any time soon but the moments of concern about his state are passed.  Once more Rose has worked her magical healing powers.  He thinks back on the charm bracelet that he’d gotten her for Christmas and realizes it wasn’t enough.  He’d have to find a way to bottle the galaxy for her to receive a present that could convey her importance to him in a gift format.  He settles for just telling her instead.</p>
<p>He turns to face her.  To tell her that he really values and appreciates her as a person and as a friend.  No, not a friend.  A close companion.  The closest he’s ever had.  He’s already running through a list of the top ten things he could say to her:  Number One.  I like the way you look when we’re stuck on an adventure of sorts and forced to sleep in a pile like a pair of kittens.  Number Two.  You know me better than anyone living ever has.  </p>
<p>He settles for number three: You Saved Me</p>
            </blockquote>





	fin de siècle

Sometimes he ends up at the end of the world, just looking for a reason to let go of everything he is and knows. It has become his compulsion, feet hanging out of the TARDIS door and tie all askew. He sits and thinks to himself, _this is it._ He’s come as far as he ever will and lost more than he will ever hope to have again.

It’s these moments, when he is at his very weakest, that he always finds himself drawn back to her. Finds himself drawn back to the memories he’ll always hold tucked away in his mind.

* * *

She asks him to take her back to Paris at the turn of the last century. He’s standing at the TARDIS console, contemplating their latest misfortune on an entire planet consisting of what she’d described as Cheese Monsters. When he asks about the destination, looking behind him quizzically, she simply smiles and explains: too many viewings of Moulin Rouge. The Doctor doesn’t bother going into detail that the movie was a gross romanticism of the actual time period. He grins back, as wide as he possibly can, and sets the TARDIS to Paris, 1899. Rose has given him stranger requests and this one seems easy enough he supposes. 

Nothing is ever really _easy enough_ for the two of them however. Their delayed start off the TARDIS, a wardrobe issue she claims, makes them five minutes late for the official start to the New Year. He offers to take her back again but she shrugs off her irritation with a forced cheerfulness he knows well.

Rather than dwell on their tardiness, he offers his arm and a lengthy explanation of the region, culminating in a walk up to Montmartre. Late but not done for the night, the party is in full swing. He takes a moment to explain _fin de siècle_ , the artist’s term of the times for the end of an era. The Doctor does explain that there are many other uses for this phrase, but this generation took it to heart. 

Rose is only half listening; she’s spied an actual dance hall with girls in the dresses like she saw in the movie. Bright and colorful creations make of beautiful fabrics and decorated with the plumage of exotic animals these women would never see live. Rose seems entranced by the women. She follows their movement through open doors which call to her. 

The Doctor follows behind as they both enter the building.

It’s as good a place as any for a celebratory drink he supposes.

Refreshments in hand the two snag a table on a raised area by the entrance and prepare for the next stage show. They make an odd couple, him in his 21st century suit and her in a 1920’s flapper get-up (the fringe makes her smile even if she looks ridiculously out of place), but they’re left alone entirely. 

They watch as the coordinator of the evening’s show announces the next act. And exotic dancer, named Isis, gracing the stage with her beautiful _danse orientale_. This is the first and only performance. The Doctor has the feeling that he and Rose have arrived just in time for the main attraction this evening. The man on stage sweeps his arms to the side and bends at the waist before backing away. The curtains slide apart to reveal the shadow of a woman’s outline.

At the front of the stage, a four man band begins a slow and sensual beat. One drum per man, the beat builds slowly but solidly before the lights rise to reveal the dancer. The crowds is spurred on by the drumming, clapping in time with the music.

Rose leans forward in her seat.

On stage the woman is finally fully visible. She’s scantily clad, especially for the era, and the room erupts in cheers and cat calls. The Doctor looks around uneasily as men begin to move toward the stage, still loud and cheering. 

The dancer is unfazed however. She moves her hips in a figure eight pattern and travels the stage. She is adept at her art form and the Doctor should know. He’s seen this particular style of dancing over thirty centuries and has always been amazed at the coordination and grace it requires.

Rose had become enthralled by the movements. She sways lightly in her seat to the rhythm of the music. At times she almost seems to mimic the dancer’s movements. The crowd grows more restless and the Doctor doesn’t like the feel of the place anymore.

He’s ready to grab Rose’s hand and run for all their worth, not an unusual end to an evening to be sure. This place feels like a powder keg to him and he’s pretty certain it’s ready to blow. Rose is enjoying herself so very much though and he just doesn’t want to disappoint her.

In the end it was a spilled cocktail. Somewhere at the front of the room one man jostled another and a drink was spilt. Rather than an apology, fists were exchanged. Shortly after that the woman on stage was being escorted off by the hall’s security and the Doctor was holding tight to Rose. They were out of the way and it was possible that they could just lie low until the danger passed. 

Could and would being what they are to a man like the Doctor, he instructed Rose to stay put, absolutely don’t move, while he rushed to the side exit to open the doors. People needed to get out of this building before an entire city block started rioting. He was down on the main floor, being shoved from most every side. The doors were within reach, just four meters. No more than that. 

He glances back for a moment to check on Rose. She’s right where he left her, staring down at him with her eyes wide with nerves. He gives her a smile, just to reassure her. He might be worried, but it won’t due to have Rose upset. Everything will be fine. It usually always is. 

The look that washes over her face gives him pause and warns him of the impending danger he’s unaware of. He moves forward, towards Rose, knowing instinctively not to back up. His attacker comes from behind. The blow, made with what feels like an extremely hard piece of something, misses him for the most part.

Not enough to keep from crumpling him to the floor. He hears Rose scream, over all of the noise in the room her wail of panic is clear to him. It chills and alarms him yet he’s unable to keep the wave of black from overtaking him.

The Doctor comes around propped up against the door of the TARDIS. He registers cold and wet everywhere and an aching pain at the back of his skull. The pain extends down his back as well. He’s full conscious of what’s transpired, at least. But, where is Rose? He looks around at his surroundings. The TARDIS is still parked in the same alley he’d landed in earlier. On the street in front of him, there are a few people weaving drunkenly through the snow but it appears most of the revelers have gone home for the night. It must be close to sun up.

Rose clears the corner, her hands folded in front of her. They are busy worrying each other as she stares down at her feet. He does his best to put a smile on his face for her but it feels more like a grimace. When she looks up and sees him she appears to be beyond relieved. 

He doesn’t ask how she got him back and she doesn’t let go of him until she’s got him back to his rarely used bedroom. The TARDIS guides the pair of them to his door and even goes so far as to open it. Rose has been in here before; never a frequent visitor but a welcome one when she seeks him out. He leans against her as she helps him out of his coat.

In the back of his mind he knows he should send her on her way with a thank you and a reassurance but his arms feel too heavy to manage this disrobing himself. 

His tie is stripped quickly and efficiently. The buttons of his shirt are undone with an equal swiftness. He sucks in a sharp breath when her hands brush down to his bare waist. He’s guided to a sitting position on his bed. When she lets go he feels himself lean after the missing touch. Rose kneels.

The Doctor would be a liar if he claimed to have never considered the two of them ending up in a situation like this. The flashbacks of those all too vivid pieces of his imagination make him shift uncomfortably as she works at his shoe laces. He’s got rules. Rose Tyler in the bedroom with him naked is one of those big no-no’s he can’t move past.

His shoes are whisked from his feet; his socks follow shortly. She leans back on her heels now and looks up at him. For the first time, he realizes that she’s been crying this whole time without making a sound. Her carefully applied mascara is creating black rivers down her cheeks and his heart breaks. His hand rises to wipe at her face but she eludes his touch.

She stands and informs him that she’ll be back in a tick and could he please put on a pair of lounge pants in her absence? He manages a nod and watches her stand. Her back as straight as he’s ever seen it, she walks from his room. The Doctor rubs a hand over his face and tries to push away that image of Rose from his mind.

He focuses on the task at hand instead. He’s got a pair of sleep pants she’d just given him for Christmas not six days prior lying on the floor. It only takes him a moment to slip out of his pants and into the loungers. He throws his suit onto the chair he keeps by his bedside. It’s a very nice suit. 

At the door, Rose knocks once to announce her return. She doesn’t wait for a response. In her hands she carries a bowl of water. There are towels thrown across her arm. He looks first at his shirt; it lies on the floor at his feet. The back of the collar is bright red. He raises his eyes to Rose. Her mouth is tight in concern; for him she’s concerned. He must have been whacked especially hard.

When she tells him to sit back down on the bed he doesn’t complain. She spreads one of the towels around his shoulders. He inhales as it settles and realizes that it’s on that she uses. The scent of her conditioner is still fresh on it. She takes up position behind him and gently tilts his head forward. Her fingers pick through his hair until she finds the source of blood and he winces.

She takes her sweet time poking around the back of his head before making a tsking sound. Her hands fall away from him and again he’s leaning towards the missing touch. He hears her wet a towel and steels himself for the discomfort he knows in imminent. When it comes, he feels her being so gentle with him. It makes him feel like a pillock for ending up wounded. The sight of her tears pops back up in his mind.

Rose says nothing as she washes the back of his head. She’d have let him know if it was serious so he can only imagine that it’s a nick. Head wounds though, being what they are, bleed like the devil. He catches a glimpse of the bowl of water as she nears the end of her task and the liquid is red.

The last towel she’s brought is used to gently press dry his hair. He’s touched at the care she’s used with him. Had he been alone and survived the trampling he’s sure he would have merely slept for a day or so and then brushed the incident off. It feels so much more serious with each gentle motion of her hands. 

The last of his hair is dried and he feels better. Relaxed, even. Still in pain he won’t be sleeping on his back any time soon but the moments of concern about his state are passed. Once more Rose has worked her magical healing powers. He thinks back on the charm bracelet that he’d gotten her for Christmas and realizes it wasn’t enough. He’d have to find a way to bottle the galaxy for her to receive a present that could convey her importance to him in a gift format. He settles for just telling her instead.

He turns to face her. To tell her that he really values and appreciates her as a person and as a friend. No, not a friend. A close companion. The closest he’s ever had. He’s already running through a list of the top ten things he could say to her: Number One. I like the way you look when we’re stuck on an adventure of sorts and forced to sleep in a pile like a pair of kittens. Number Two. You know me better than anyone living ever has. 

He settles for number three: You Saved Me and he swears the words are in the back of his throat when her lips come crashing down against his. She raises both hands and grips at his jaw, her thumbs at his chin and her fingertips brushing the bottom of his ears on each side. It’s a fast and frantic kiss. She takes no prisoners when she runs her tongue lightly across his upper lip. He falls apart underneath her and she takes the opportunity to delve deeper into his mouth.

As quickly as it began she’s releasing his mouth to lean her forehead against his. A tense moment hangs between them. Both keep their eyes open and wide; he isn’t sure who’s more surprised. The look on her face could give the stomach dropping feeling in his chest a run for its money. 

Her voice wavers when she speaks. “Never. Do. That. To. Me. Again.” He sees tears start to gather in her eyes again and he can’t bear to see them fall.

He has the foresight to set the bloody water filled bowl on the floor along with the damp towels before he hugs Rose Tyler tight to his chest. She keeps repeating the same sentence over and over again in various forms until it dissolves into, “Never. Again.”

_Never Again_

He’ll handle that from now on unless death keeps him from her.

* * * 

He sits here in the same place as he always ends up. The scenery changes; he thinks he’s somewhere near the end of Earth. The TARDIS hovers on the other side of the sun this time. The sun itself is expanding now, inflating hungrily towards his favorite planet. Not too far away the New Doctor and the Rose who became his world are fretful for their lives.

The Doctor thinks that he might not have been able to keep every promise he ever made to Rose but at least he left her with the next best. A human-time lord Metacrisis could carry on where he was unable.

He pulls his feet inside the TARDIS and shuts the doors. He needs a proper vacation. Perhaps Mars.

***

The snowy lawns of the Tyler mansion cast the scenery in a wintery blue. The moon stares down happily as the revelers crammed inside the ball room laugh up at it in celebration. Christmas, for once, has been a quiet affair.

No end-of-the-world crisis to deal with no alien invasions except for the one happening over at the bar. From across the room Rose Tyler watches as the Doctor makes short work of the bartender’s supply of banana puree and banana run. She chuckles as he produces a daiquiri that has rivaled all others in size. Most likely alcohol content as well.

She’s half way across the floor when she’s waylaid by her mum. Jackie Tyler spends a few moments looking her daughter up and down before wishing her a Happy New Year and moving along. Rose watches her float away before heading towards the Doctor once more.

Rose is only four or five meters away when disaster strikes her lover. The floor by the balcony is wet and he’s paying more attention to his drink than his surroundings. His feet are out from under him as soon as his slick dress shoes hit a patch of the melting snow. She can feel that old terror build up inside herself again. She has no thoughts of her own care as she flies across the crowded room to the Doctor’s side.

He’s moving, at least, when she arrives. But, he’s shaking. From tears, it sounds like. She pulls on his chin, demanding with her hands to see his face. Her breath exhales when she realizes that he’s shaking with laughter. And covered in banana daiquiri. She wavers between utter relief and complete anger. The Doctor laughs on. Anger, at her own worry and his carelessness, wins out and she turns to stalk away.

“Rose! Wait!”

Foot paused in mid-stride; she lowers it and turns sharply to look at him. He’s on his feet again; still chuckling but unharmed.

“I’m alright. I promise.” He closes the distance between them and cups her cheek. “I’m always alright when you’re here.” 

She looks up with tear heavy eyes but they don’t fall. She smiles again. “Never again, eh?”

He laughs and kisses her forehead. “That’s right. Never again.” She rises onto her toes and brushes her lips across his nose in a familiar gesture for the two of them.

***

In a faraway time and universe, the Doctor smiles and brushes at his nose, feeling happy for the first time in a long time. He pulls the helmet of his space suit into its locked position and steps out onto the Martian plane.


End file.
